


Red

by arie_barie



Category: WINNER - Fandom, Winner (Band), Winner_Spring_Summer_Ficfest2020
Genre: Casual dating, F/M, Winner kpop band, opposite of a slow burn, song mino - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25486405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arie_barie/pseuds/arie_barie
Summary: Mino was invited to join the annual Seoul of Spring exhibit this year. While checking out the artworks and meeting his fellow artists, he saw a lone woman standing in front of a painting so beautiful it took his breath away. "Yours?", he asked while admiring the piece. The girl smiled shyly and nodded. He extended his arm for a handshake and said, "Hi I'm Mino, I'd love to see more"
Relationships: Song Mino and Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5
Collections: WINNER Spring/Summer Fic Fest 2020





	Red

He stared up at the canvas in deep concentration. Others in the art gallery moved around him. A constant flow of people looking at one painting then moving on to the next. The river-like flow, the soft sound of gentle conversation filled the space. But he wasn’t moving. He was captured. As soon as he saw the colors he wanted to study every inch. 

“Did you have any questions?” 

He finally turned away from the painting. It took effort but he shifted himself to the sound of the question. 

“This is my first time exhibiting but I’d be happy to try and answer anything you wanna know.” 

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he tried to form his thoughts. Besides the painting being beautiful and captivating, he wasn’t prepared for you the artist to be just as interesting.

“I,” he swallowed and then turned back to the canvas, “I really like it.” He got out. He loved flowers, loved to look up the meaning of them and found the whole subject fascinating. You had covered the canvas in bright red flowers that he didn’t recognize. They felt powerful though, the bold color, the shape of the petals, the background being stark so as not to draw attention. 

“What kind of flowers are they?” He asked.  
“Gladiolus”, you supplied.  
“They’re beautiful.” He pulled his phone out and tried to type in the flower name, “the whole piece is amazing.”  
When he looked at you again, he found a small smile on your face.  
“Do you have more?” He asked. He was suddenly so curious about what else you had created.  
“More?” You echoed softly and then shook your head, “not here, but I have more in my studio.” Your face went through a range of changes before you settled on sheepish, “actually you know, they aren’t done, but the other pieces are meant to be sort of a series.” 

It felt like he was standing alone with you. All of his attention was focused on what you were saying, or what you were trying to say. He was so focused he flinched when someone else came up to you to speak on your painting. Another artist tapped your arm, “so you’re the one who did these flowers, I’ve walked by twice trying to meet you.” He laughed jovially. You blushed and tried to hide your face. 

“Don’t be embarrassing,” you chided. Then your attention was back on Mino, “this is my friend River,” you explained, “he’s a photographer and he did collages for this show.” 

River extended his hand and Mino shook it.  
“I’m Mino,”  
“Oh, Song Mino?” River pronounced his name carefully. He nodded in response.  
“Cool, I loved all your work,” River pushed his hand through his hair as he spoke, “you used some really off the wall colors, so different from everything else.”  
“Thanks.” He said. River poked playfully at your arm, “I tried to tell her she should do the flowers neon but she nixed my idea.” He laughed at your frowning face. “Neon Gladiolus?” You tipped your head studying your own canvas, “it wouldn’t mean the same thing.” You whispered to yourself. He wanted so badly to ask what it meant. But River hanging over your shoulder stopped him. There were other pieces to look at, other works, but he lingered. Shifted back and forth on each foot, his hands tight on the brochure, and he couldn’t figure out what he was waiting for. 

“Did you have other questions?” you asked. He found himself tripping on his words. Unsure of what it was he had to get out.  
“I-”  
“You should come out with us tonight.” River threw his arm over your shoulder and edged you closer to him, “we’re going to celebrate the show. I think everyone is planning on meeting at the bar down the street.” He casually brushed your hair, messing it up and causing you to squirm under his arm, “River,” you chided. He laughed and let you go, “were you already going?” He asked.  
Mino nodded.  
He wasn’t, truthfully. He had no idea there was even a bar down the street. None of the other artists had mentioned it but he tried his best to contain his confusion. He twisted the gallery brochure instead.  
“Well I guess I’ll see you guys later then.” He moved off with a wave. He heard clearly when you whispered, “see you.” 

What was the proper etiquette for talking to people at bars? They were loud generally, he would have to yell. He didn’t want to yell at you. He wanted to ask what made you choose the flowers you chose. Why the color? Could he see the rest? He bit his bottom lip as he thought, a beer in his hand. He wanted to keep his questions floating around your painting for good reason.The more he wanted to ask about you personally, the more he thought about River draping his arms over your shoulders. River may have been introduced as a friend but there was an ownership in the way he touched you. It made Mino think twice about talking to you about anything other than art. He just needed to figure out the exact volu-  
“Hey, you actually came.” 

He turned and found you watching him, eyes bright. You had changed into a simple white t-shirt and jeans. You brushed your hair back and beamed even brighter, “I thought you would be too busy”, you said. He smirked, it was hard to keep his expression as carefree as he wanted it. His heart was definitely hammering.  
“I was free tonight, and besides I couldn’t turn down the invitation.” He explained. You nodded and stepped closer, “what are you drinking?”  
“Just a Blue Moon.” He provided.  
“Sounds good,” you moved past him towards the bar. He followed you automatically. Leaned over the wood of the bar next to you, while you ordered and smiled at the bartender. Once you had your bottle you turned and leaned against the bar to face him. 

“So,” you took a quick sip, “it’s not very packed in here. I thought more people would have shown up.” You were talking at normal volume, he made a large mental note. He shrugged, “I guess people are tired. Once you’ve finally got the piece out and on the wall…” He trailed off but he could see you understood his point.  
“It was really nice to be finished” you granted, “I’m not the best at timing so this was a real challenge for me.”  
“Not good at finishing what you start?” he asked. You mulled his words over. You took another sip then tipped your head to look up at him.  
“I suppose”, you finally said.  
“Why is that?” He drank some of his own beer, “afraid of endings?” he joked.  
“Terrified of them.” 

The words were heavy, just like in the gallery when you mentioned the color not meaning the same. His hands grew tight on the bottle, why was he so desperate to know why? This wasn’t like him. Usually he was friendly but slightly wary of people. Being taken advantage of was a collaborative effort between the victim and the person they trust too much. In his line of work, being too trusting was a recipe for disaster. He had to remind himself that he couldn’t know too much about you because he couldn’t tell you much about himself. He valued his privacy. His boundaries. So instead of getting you to elaborate, he tried to steer you towards something else. He looked around the room, “River didn’t come?”  
“He had a date suddenly,” you explained. Was that a frown on your face? Were you jealous? He swallowed the lump in his throat.  
“Oh well, you have me at least.” He offered. “I’ve got nothing to do but sit and drink beer with you”, he added. 

The two of you found a table and it was like talking to an old friend. He sat and asked you all the questions he could about your painting. You explained passionately about wanting to draw energy from your piece, about wanting to have the strength you put on the canvas.  
“What do you need all that strength for?” he asked. You leaned towards him and whispered, “there are a range of issues I educate people on, and a lot of times it requires...strength”, you explained.  
“Are you a teacher during the day?” He could imagine it, you with a roomful of students who would probably hang on your every word. You shook your head, “no I’m a travelling journalist.” You said, “a teacher? I wish, a nice little classroom, cute kids...coloring!” You laughed at yourself and he joined in. Leaning forward in his chair as you leaned back to really laugh, “kids would be so much simpler”, you said to yourself.  
“Well think about this,” he said on a chuckle, “at least adults aren’t as messy.” 

The bar emptied out. Yet he was still with you. Walking after you as you passed under streetlights laughing. Every so often you turned to say something and he stopped so he could make sure he processed every word. How drunk was he? Drunk enough that he would follow anywhere you led. Drunk enough to reach his hand out to take yours. Someone he had known all of a few hours, someone he told himself he would stay guarded against. Drunk enough to blurt out, “I’m glad River didn’t come.”  
“Glad he didn’t come?”, you echoed. When he looked down he was indeed holding your hand, his fingers tightened around yours.  
“Did you think I was dating Rive?r”, you pulled his hand and he started to follow again. “Maybe”, he answered. For some reason you started to giggle. He wasn’t sure what made the word “maybe” funny but he laughed along.  
“And now that you know I’m not?” You turned to him again under another street light glowing amber. He stopped right in front of you and smiled. You were waiting for him to say something. He had to articulate why he was happy.  
“I-”, his Adam’s apple bobbed. You watched his face waiting on his answer. He was doomed to ruin the mood but he was truthful anyway.  
“I’m relieved.” He said. He thought you were going to be mad or disappointed and the uncertainty was like a weight sinking him out of his beer induced laughs. He saw your eyes skim up his face then back down settling on his lips.  
“It’s good that you’re honest”, you said. Then you set off again, down the sidewalk under the amber lights, laughing. 

He followed you until you stopped at a brown door right off the sidewalk.  
“Where are we?” he asked slowly. You turned with your hand over your finger before pushing the door open.  
“Come on.” You pulled him as you spoke. “You said earlier you wanted to see more.”  
Some part of his mind remembered that.  
“I remember.” He said. You flipped a light switch and he saw just what he had been so curious about. He had followed you to what looked like a studio. There was an abundance of cardboard boxes stacked and scattered here and there. Also art supplies, paints, brushes, canvas. You were standing further in by a table, he waded through until he could see the paintings on the table in front of you.  
“So I wanted to do a series but these didn’t turn out how I wanted.” Your fingers played along the edges of the table. He looked down at them, his mouth opening in awe. The canvases were covered in flowers. Bright bold beautiful flowers that covered the entire canvas. They were all roses: yellow, deep burgundy, and blue. They looked finished to him, he wondered why they hadn’t made it to the gallery.  
“These are beautiful”, he whispered. “Why didn’t you display them?” he asked. You shrugged, “they all didn’t go together”, you finally said. The table lost your interest, you wandered further and draped yourself on the couch placed near the only window he could see.  
“Do you want some water,” the question implied that you really didn’t want to get back up. He smiled a half smile and shook his head, “I’m fine.”  
“Come sit with me then.” You patted the spot next you and he obliged. Settling against the cushions with a groan.  
“Sorry it’s such a mess,” You mumbled.  
“It’s charming”, he granted. You leaned your head on his shoulder and yawned. He leaned his own head back and looked up at the ceiling. His chest was slowly filling with a warm contentment that he knew wasn’t the beer.  
“I’m gonna fall asleep I think…” you said, putting your arms around him, “is that ok?”  
He shifted so you could position yourself comfortably. He set his hand on your head feeling the softness of your hair.  
“That’s fine, sleep tight”, he said. You didn’t need anymore from him. He felt when you sunk into sleep and he couldn’t help himself. He kissed the top of your head before he closed his own eyes. 

When he woke up you were already awake and offering coffee.  
“Sorry for dragging you all through the street,” the cup you passed him was huge but he appreciated it.  
“It’s no problem.” He took it from your hands and sipped, “I had a good time.”  
You smiled and then turned back to the little kitchenette near the back of the room, “I can make you some toast if you want?” you opened the small fridge, “I don’t really have much.”  
“The coffee is perfect”, he said in answer. “I don’t wanna trouble you”, he added. He wanted to linger. To take up as much of your time as he could but he knew that was unfair. He took one more long sip before he set it down.  
“I’m sure you’ve got stuff to do”, you spoke as you poured your own cup. The fridge and the idea of toast abandoned.  
“But if you happen to have time again and want to talk about art and junk…” you looked up at him and smiled, “feel free to come by.” 

The problem was that he always wanted to talk about art and junk but he had much less time than he wanted. He would love nothing more than to constantly go by your little single apartment and pick your brain. But the night after he followed you down the street hand in hand was the last night of freedom he had on his schedule for quite some time. Instead of being overjoyed for the work, he found himself annoyed. TV appearances kept him busy from morning till night. So late at night, in fact, that he felt like it would be inappropriate to show up after. It was a problem, a problem that seemed bigger to him by the day.  
There was still the gallery. He was still obligated to make appearances there and thank God for that. He caught glimpses of you. You weren’t always by your piece but when you were, he stopped to chat. He had to be careful, since the opening of the exhibition had gained a lot of popularity. Someone would notice if he paid you too much attention. Ironically River being around also helped him with this. A trio was much less suspicious. Especially since River was still touchy with you. If anything, Mino looked like a third wheel. It irked him but if it was all he could get then he would take it. He had no choice. 

“So your solo album is all done then?” you asked. He nodded, proud. He couldn’t really elaborate but one of the magical things about you was you sensed when he couldn’t say more and didn’t ask.  
“I’ll be first in line to buy it.” You smiled. He had mentioned it to you at the bar, what seemed like ages ago. Mentioned it even though he wanted to have said more. Besides his art, his music was something he was immensely proud of. He had the need to share it with you.  
“I’ll send you a copy”, he assured you. River wasn’t around for once and he could almost feel eyes on his back. He stopped himself from leaning in. It was hard but he managed. Instead he put his hand under his chin and looked pensive.  
“Just bring it to me, you know where I live.” You winked at him then turned to the woman who had just tapped your shoulder. He got to watch you answer her questions with a big bright smile. He even caught you looking his way. He knew what he wanted those looks to mean, but he tried his best to keep his hopes reasonable. As reasonable as he could. 

A few months ago it had felt like you were losing your mind. You were taking a break from writing, trying your best to give yourself a rest and just breathe. You loved your job but you had caught enough colds in the last six months to worry your boss. The vacation was one of the strongest suggestions she had given you in a while. The first few weeks were fun. You caught up on all your shows, watched movies with River, you even finished your painting with time to spare.  
Then you were bored, incredibly bored. You were used to travelling everywhere, used to hotel rooms, used to new places. Being sedentary wasn’t for you apparently. River didn’t understand. He could laze on the couch all day and preached to you that the whole point of your vacation was to relax.  
“I’m too relaxed”, you complained every time you two talked about it, “I feel like my brain is melting out of my ears.” 

The art show was a bright spot in an otherwise quiet routine. You could walk to the gallery and spend the opening day talking with tons of curious people. You saw him for the first time that day. Passing through the crowd a little half smile on his face. He didn’t come to your end of the gallery the first day. He stood on the other side, walking up, then back. At least you were assuming up and back, since you were trying your best not to stare. He was tall, skin sunkissed and smooth. The glimpses you caught of his face made your heart beat harder. All he had to do was cross the little entryway and then he would be on your side. You waited in vain but before you knew it, River was throwing his arm over your shoulder complaining about being hungry. He had guided you out. When you looked back, he was there, standing in front of your piece, looking up. 

The second day you half expected him to drift next to you. You weren’t expecting how his voice would affect you, you also weren’t expecting his eyes to be so bright up close. You were captured immediately. It felt like a dream. Time was different with Mino. One moment you were in the gallery talking to him, the next you were at a bar. A bar where you laughed with each other from across the table. He peppered you with more questions about your work, about the flowers. It felt like you blinked and then he was following you down the street while you giggled uncontrollably at something. He held your hand. You remembered that exact moment vividly. His hand felt like it belonged in yours.

But maybe all that dreaming and mystery had been for nothing. After waking up, then walking out of your little studio, he distanced himself. You talked here and there at the gallery but other than that…

You wondered about it more than you knew was healthy. You were up late sitting on the same couch and eating cereal. It was raining outside. The summer rain hit your window and you guessed that you would get a nice deep sleep. Your TV was so loud you almost missed the knock on your door. Your first thought was your phone, you picked it up and checked to see if River had texted you. Nothing. Another knock. You got up and moved towards it, “who is it?” you called.  
“It’s me.” You recognized his voice immediately. Your heart picked up speed again.  
“Mino?” You knew but it was still smart to make sure.  
“Yeah, I know it’s late.”  
You opened the door and he was dripping wet in the rain. He didn’t look bothered but you knew he had to be at least a little chilly. You motioned him in and he ducked inside.  
“What brings you by?” You asked. He was dripping on your floor. Little puddles were forming around him. He was wearing wide leg pants and a white undershirt. Both pieces of clothing stuck to him like glue. Instead of staring, you set your mind to getting him a towel. Luckily, within a small space everything was in easy reach. It only took you a minute to grab him a towel.  
“I needed to talk to you”, he said. He brushed the towel through his hair.  
“Right this minute?” You giggled and he smirked at your joke before his face went serious again.  
“Yeah right this minute.”  
He stepped closer to you, “they postponed my album.” He blurted out. You sighed, just as sad about the news. Everytime he talked about his music, he glowed. You hated to hear that his company was once again holding him up.  
“I’m sorry”, you offered, “but don’t get too discouraged, you’ll get it out soon.” You took his hand and squeezed his fingers. He was looking down at your hands.  
“I walked all the way here because I needed this feeling,” he said.  
“Feeling?” You watched him pull your intertwined hands to his lips. He kissed your hand and you thought maybe he was confused. He pulled you closer and, “is it just me? Or do you feel something too?” he asked. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. All his attention on you.  
“You aren’t messing with me right?” You couldn’t help being skeptical. He shook his head.  
“You promise?” Your eyes tracked down to his mouth, “I would be really annoyed if you walked all this way in the rain just to play a plank on me.” You licked your lips and started to rise up on your tiptoes. He leaned down the rest of the way and kissed you. His lips seemed to dull your senses. All you could feel was his lips moving against yours. He pulled away to look at you, “come on,” he ducked to kiss you again quickly, “give me a little credit”, he begged.  
“Before I do, you have to tell me what this feeling is that you walked through the rain for.” You touched your hands to his cheek, “I’m so curious.”  
He kissed the top of your forehead, “I thought I was going to cry with frustration when they told me about my album. It only got worse when they couldn’t give me a reason why.” He kissed your cheek next, “but then I thought of your gladiolus and I felt,” he kissed your lips again, “I felt really strong”, he said, against your lips. He pulled away again.  
“But it didn’t last very long, so I had to come here. So that I could get that feeling straight from the source.” He beamed at you.  
“Is that ok?” he asked. Again, he seemed unsure. You nodded, immediately setting his face back into a sunny grin.  
“Of course,” you got out. You reached your arms around his neck and played with the hair on the nape of his neck. He was still really wet from the rain but that was a small detail. You both could take care of that later. 

END.


End file.
